


Fine Orlesian Dining

by assrelays



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assrelays/pseuds/assrelays
Summary: Mal has never been one for nobility, so Cullen offers her some comfort in the Winter Palace.





	

Fuck Orlais, and fuck the bastard that invented corsets.

 

Oh, sure, Josephine had assured her that this was the most comfortable, breathable design on the market. Josephine had _lied_. Every second she felt another microfraction form in her ribs, and her internal organs were about to _burst_. It had only been Vivienne's insistence that finally made Mal give in and let them string her into this torture device. The point of a corset was to make a woman's waist slender, but there was nothing slender about her, from her wide-set hips to her thick thighs. Before it had always seemed advantageous—there was extra cushioning when she fell, and if the dreaded day ever came where she got pregnant, the sucker would probably slide right out.

 

Now? It was quite possibly the definition of hell.

 

From the moment she set foot in the Winter Palace, she had felt the eyes on her. Watching, calculating, disapproving. She didn't have many memories of the Trevelyan house, but the few she did were laced with the same feeling. Careful, careful, always careful.

 

Desperate to find some respite, she hurried past the nobles, smiling tightly underneath her half-mask. _Yes, hello, how do you do, very well, excuse me just a moment_. She did not quite breathe, certain that if she took too deep a breath her breasts would just pop out from the low neck of her dress. Now _that_ would be memorable.

 

She passed half a dozen crowded rooms before she found a staircase with a locked door at the top. After shooting a cursory glance to make sure no one was watching, she froze the lock, and slammed her shoulder against the door until they shattered and sent her stumbling into the dark library.

 

By the grace of Andraste, it was blessedly empty, dim and cool, with only the muted sound of the ball trickling in. With a groan, Mal sagged against the wall, a hand fumbling behind her back for the strings of her corset, fashion be damned. She could hardly walk in this thing, let alone fight, if it came to that.

 

The entire palace was strung with the tension of an oncoming fight. Proper posture edged on rigid, and the masks did not hide their eyes. Some were afraid—she could pick them out of a crowd easily—but the rest were something else. Waiting. Hungry.

 

It was the nature of nobility to be opportunistic, that much she had gathered in her brief months as Inquisitor. As their organization grew in prowess suddenly they were the hottest new trend. Nobles clamored to make alliances and schedule audiences with the grand Inquisitor, but what they were really looking for was a show, something flashy to say 'look what I have that you don't.' It wrinkled her nose just to think about it.

 

But if the Inquisition was a modest inheritance, Orlais was a fortune. The Empire that held back Tevinter was soaked in gold, and anyone who picked the right side was bound to come out of this with more land and money than before. The only problem was which side—Celene, the diplomat, the lady, or her cousin Gaspard, who for all his shortcomings in politics had pressed a strong advantage on the field. Did they want a sword or a dagger?

 

Everyone kept telling her how, tonight, someone would step away as ruler of the Empire. She couldn't puzzle out how. If all these months of fighting hadn't worked out a resolution, how would one night of negotiations? No, it had to be something nastier, more... _Orlesian_. Poison or assassins or maybe just public humiliation. Who knew how these fucking cheese-eaters chose their ruler? The place would still be just as back-asswards, with their stupid little masks and their tiny cakes. If only she could get this _damn_ corset off--

 

"Let me help you with that."

 

Cullen's fingers ghosted over her lower back, warm through the fabric of her dress, and a moment later she regained the ability to breathe. She took a series of deep, gulping breaths, and damn if she'd ever tasted anything so sweet. It made her almost lightheaded, the sudden rush of air, but fuck if the heels didn't make it worse.

 

"Easy there," Cullen said, one hand firm against her back as she swayed. "Feeling a little oxygen deprived?"

 

Mal shot him a lethal look, but it only made him laugh more. The men had been somewhat spared the indignities of Orlesian fashion with simple cerulean uniforms embellished with silver. Josephine had absolutely balked when Cassandra suggested they all wear them, and it had only been a matter of time before they some squat little man stood on a stool to take her measurements. The result had been something of a monstrosity—a massive, bulky skirt that dragged along the floor and could probably hide a small village under all its layers, out of which rose a tight, sleeveless bodice that went all the way to a collar at her neck, but not without a gratuitous boob window. Fucking Orlesians.

 

The whole thing was done up in shades of shimmering jade and black, swirled together until they resembled the Breach itself—the tailor's idea of irony, probably. The only mercy she'd been allowed were long black gloves, so she could at least hide the mark from ogling nobles.

 

Mal blew a strand of hair from her face, which only made Cullen snicker more. "Why don't we put _you_ in an Orlesian death trap and see how _you_ like it."

 

Cullen only smiled at her and tucked the offending lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid I wouldn't look half as good in it as you," he said.

 

Mal rolled her eyes, but didn't stop him when he moved in to steal a kiss. "Don't tell me you fancy all this frivolous noble nonsense."

 

"No," he said, as his hands settled to her waist and he pressed another fleeting kiss to her lips. "But I do fancy you."

 

The romanticism of his words was somewhat ruined when Mal made an exagerrated gagging noise. "Barf. Are you going to start writing me love poems now?"

 

"Would you like me to?" he teased.

 

She quirked an eyebrow. "Only if it's the dirty kind."

 

He laughed again, and she had a moment to admire him at his best: careless, with the Inquisition far from his mind. She hated to sour the image.

 

"How did you find me in here?" She had thought herself somewhat discreet, slipping away and breaking the locks, and as far as she could tell the rest of the library was totally empty, so he couldn't have just been in here himself.

 

"I noticed when you left, ah, somewhat distraught after your introduction to Celene, and I thought it best to follow you," he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. Maker, this considerate man would be the death of her.

 

"Well—thanks, I think. I just... needed to get some air."

 

Cullen grimaced. "I know the feeling."

 

Mal bit her lip, certain that he was just as uncomfortable around nobility as she was, albeit for slightly different reasons. Now that their conversation had shifted away from banter, she felt herself growing uncertain. Their relationship remained undefined, largely by her insistence. They kissed, and they fucked, and they flirted when no one else was around, but they didn't, well, talk. Not like this.

 

"Did you try any of those tiny cakes?" she said suddenly. "Some lady in a big hat was gushing about them, but I think they tasted like ass."

 

Cullen laughed unsteadily. "I, ah, no, I haven't eaten any of the food. I'm not entirely sure that it's not poisoned." The uncertainty was creeping up on him too, if the nervousness in his voice was any indication. She could feel the cusp of it, that conversation that ruined everything, where they talked about emotions and insecurities and he asked how she was feeling. It was the conversation the precipitated "what are we" and "where are we going." He opened his mouth to speak--

 

"Tell me about this poetry you'll write me," she said, eager to shift the subject. "The dirty poetry, I mean."

 

There was something in the way he looked at her, if only just for a moment, that spoke disappointment. Then he cracked a lopsided grin and pressed closer to her, until she was pinned between him and the wall. Distantly, the sound of muffled chatter squeaked under the closed door.

 

"Dirty poetry?" he said, as if mulling it over. "Does it have to rhyme?"

 

She let her arms settle loosely over his shoulders, making him just as trapped with her as she was with him. "Obviously. I'll only accept the best. None of this free-form nonsense."

 

He tipped his head to the side for a moment, thinking. "Bright and beautiful as Chantry glass, Andraste's Herald has a shapely ass." As if to punctuate it, his hand slipped down from her waist to give her a firm squeeze, and she had to bite off the immediate squeal that escaped her.

 

"You prick! I said poetry, not cop a feel!"

 

"My apologies, Lady Inquisitor," he said, though it was clearly just as insincere as her irritation. "Shall I do another as reparations? Poem, that is."

 

Mal eyed him warily. It was unusual to see him so... _forward_ , but she couldn't deny the change of pace was refreshing. "Go on."

 

He leaned in close to her ear, until his breath on her neck made him shiver. "To my lady, my lover, to you and no other," he worked a line of kisses down her jaw, her neck, "I await your return from the hunt, so I might once again taste that sweet, juicy--"

 

"Oh!" Mal's eyes snapped open at the touch of his hand on her leg. She hadn't even seen him sink to his knees, or pull off one of his silken gloves. "What are you--"

 

His hand slid from her calf, up the inside of her thigh, until he brushed the hem of her panties. Even so much taller her than her as he was, the mass of the skirt almost obscured him entirely as he leaned forward.

 

Oh, Maker. She wanted to. She really, really wanted to. But even though it hadn't been on Josie's list of things not to do, she suspected having sex at the Winter Palace was a big no-no.

 

"Cullen, if someone walks through that door--"

 

"They'll see a very flustered woman with a very large skirt," he finished.

 

Oh. _Oh_. Well, when he put it like that--

 

Hell, what better way was there to say "fuck Orlais" than to fuck in Orlais?

 

His thumb slid under her panties and began to inch them down. "Can you be quiet?" After all the times they'd met in secret, he wasn't really asking if she could be discreet. He was asking permission.

 

She bit her lip, nodded, afraid to speak because that awful, rational part of her might take over. It was almost sinful, the look of him as he disappeared under the bulk of her skirts. He'd been right—there was such a ridiculous amount of material that he was hardly even noticeable. Of course, now there was the fact that she couldn't see him, or what he was doing...

 

His hands traveled up the outside of her thighs, just the barest hint of a touch. It sent shivers down her spine, to be able to feel him but not see him. In all their previous encounters, there had been some semblance of romance—linger looks and slow kisses, not too much, because there was never enough time and eyes were everywhere—but this wasn't romantic. It was...

 

Well, _hot_ , if she were being honest with herself, which she almost never was. The better voice, the one that kicked logic to the curb, told her to shut up and enjoy it while it lasted.

 

Her heart hammered in her chest as Cullen's thumbs hooked the edge of her panties, half from fear of being caught, half from the growing wetness between her legs. He pulled down slowly, the agony of his speed intensified by the realization that it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for them. Maker, didn't this man have any sense of urgency?

 

He had to guide her feet, clumsy as she was in her heels and blind to boot. His grip was warm and firm as he helped her to step out of her panties, the first time he had really touched her, not just teased. Hands still on the back of her calves, he kissed a slow line up the inside of her leg, starting just above her knee. By the time he reached her inner thigh, Mal was breathing hard. There was nothing to grab but smooth marble, and the firm insistence of his grip kept her from pressing her legs together in search of some kind of friction. Instead, she was left with only the maddening heat of his breath inches from her sex.

 

"For fuck's sake Cullen, if you don't--"

 

The rest of her sentence was swallowed in a strangled gasp as he ran the flat of his tongue along her, suddenly so much where there had been so little. It was all she could do to muffle the sound with a hand over her mouth, and even that was threatened as he eased one leg over his shoulder. The change in position opened her up, made his tongue press deeper in her before he circled her clit.

 

She might have buckled right then and there, if he wasn't supporting most of her weight. Pinned as she was between him and the wall, she was left with little recourse against his ministrations. He used it to his advantage, working shallow kisses followed by deep sweeps of his tongue that left her breathless in a way that had little to do with her corset. In what was undoubtedly a stroke of genius, she pulled off one glove so she could bite down to avoid crying out. Every now and against, he would whisper something utterly unintelligible into her, and the timbre of his voice pressed against her core threatened to undo her.

 

 _Dirty poetry_ , she thought. _He's reciting dirty poetry into my cunt_.

 

She felt precarious enough, perched on one heel, when he eased a finger into her, so thick where she was so tight. The surprise of it made her squeak, and she felt rather than heard his laugh as he curled a digit inside her. With nothing else around her, she settled for gripping her skirts, knuckles stark white against the swirling obsidian and jade.

 

He continued to pump slowly in and out of her as his mouth worked her pearl, teasing her with the barest of touches until she thought she might scream. Just before she thought she might break, he ran his tongue flat across her and slipped a second finger into her before she could so much as squeeze her eyes shut.

 

Cullen must have felt the tremble in her thighs, because he picked up the pace, working his fingers into her faster than before. She could feel herself close, like a brimming tea cup—she just needed a little more. Her hips rocked against him, seeking that little extra friction that would send her over the edge. _Just a little more..._

 

The doorknob rattled as someone struggled with the shattered lock.

 

" _Shit._ " Mal clenched her legs around him, half a warning and half still searching for that little more. She spat the glove of her mouth just before the door finally budged, and Josephine's searching eyes found her.

 

"Oh! Inquisitor! There you are. We've been looking all over for you. Leliana thinks she may have something..." Josephine trailed off, her brown crinkling in worry as her eyes adjusted to the dim room. "Mal, are you alright?"

 

 _Just fucking peachy, thanks_. "I'm—fine, Josie," she managed, still somewhat breathy. Mercifully, Cullen had stopped when he heard the door open. "I just—I'm not used to the corset, is all." Which _technically_ wasn't a lie. It wasn't the truth either, but hey, partial credit, right? It made her sexscapades less morally gray like that.

 

Josephine, Andraste bless her, nodded sympathetically. "I rather know the feeling. It makes one rather breathless, doesn't it?"

 

Breathless, sure, that was the word. Mal nodded, lips pressed together in a grimace. Josephine must have noticed, because she frowned again.

 

"Are you sure that's all, Inquisitor?"

 

 _Well, I was having pretty kinky sex, but you're kind of acting as the world's biggest cockblock right now, so that's been troubling me for the last, oh, minute or so_. Beneath the mass of her skirts, Cullen was still, except for the steady heat of his breath against her inner thigh. Josephine, bless her heart, was a good person. She didn't deserve to be lied to.

 

Good thing that had never stopped Mal before.

 

She did her best impression of glum, which was severely impeded by the fact that there was a man hiding beneath her skirt. "It's just," she gestured vaguely, "the Winter Palace. I feel so... Out of place? I don't know. It just reminds me of—home, I guess. Before the Circle." _Using the plight of mages to get around your blue balls. I'm so going to hell for this._

 

Josie offered her a sympathetic smile. "Of course, Inquisitor. I suppose it's only natural. The life you've led hasn't been easy, and I wish we didn't have to put you through this."

 

She must have said something else, because her lips kept moving and she was still fixing her with that soft, pitying look, but Mal felt a finger curl inside her, and her breath caught in her throat.

 

 _Hello, hell. Wasn't expecting to see you so soon. How are the kids?_ She could all but feel his lopsided grin against her thighs, he was so satisfied with himself. Where was the shy Chantry boy who blushed at the mention of sex when you needed him?

 

Mal nodded stiffly when Josephine looked at her expectantly, jaw clenched. She hadn't the slightest idea what she'd said. Actually, she was having trouble stringing together any coherent thoughts.

 

"Thanks, Josie. I just needed to talk about it, I think." He was starting to pump into her again, and she felt the barest whisper of his thumb against her clit. Josephine smiled at her, and started to go in for the hug, only for Mal to quickly throw up her hands. "Give me a minute to collect myself? I'll meet you and Leliana in the ballroom."

 

Josephine stopped short, but if she was offended she didn't show it. "Of course, Inquisitor. I will be there shortly. I still need to find the Commander..."

 

Underneath her, the Commander was thumbing circles around her clit.

 

Josephine bade her a quick farewell, then exited hastily, though not nearly hastily enough. Cullen had worked up to his previous pace, fingers curling inside her. When his tongue flattened against her pearl, it was all she could do not to scream as she came, head thrown back and thighs clenching around him. He worked her steadily through the aftershocks, fingers rough against her oversensitive skin. The next time she opened her eyes, she was met with the sight of him sucking her juices off his fingers.

 

Breathless and trembling as she was, she managed to cock an eyebrow at him. "Fine Orlesian dining?"

 

"Something like that," he said, grinning. When he kissed her, she could taste herself on his tongue, and for a moment she just let herself enjoy the fuzzy glow. But just a moment.

 

"You know I'm going to get you back for this, right?" she said.

 

He looked entirely too smug when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I look forward to it."

 

"No, seriously. Prepare to be punished."

 

"I leave myself at your mercy. Though," he glanced at a grandfather clock across the room, "at another time. I believe our ambassador is looking for me." He kissed her quickly, the way he always did when he was leaving, like he couldn't get enough. "Catch your breath, and I'll see you in the ballroom."

 

His stupid smile was dangerously contagious. "Is that a date?"

 

"I think that would be thoroughly inappropriate." He kissed her once more, then again as an afterthought. "Until later, Mal."

 

Then she was alone in the library, trying to control the shaking of her knees and the tremble of her breath, the sensation of his lips still a ghost over her skin. If she were being honest with herself, she knew something was wrong. Cullen was sweet, and romantic, but not like this. He was a tactician, conservative, always worried that they would be found out when they stole kisses behind the tavern. Something must have happened, and now he was desperately seeking a distraction—she knew the feeling well enough. Sex was a good way to bury things, cover up what you didn't want to think about.

 

Too bad she was never honest with herself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! Please comment with your thoughts :)
> 
> For anyone curious, my blog is brotherhoodoffeels.tumblr.com. I'd love to hear from you<3


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